Well, don t cry any more. We re not going to turn you out-of-doors
tonight. You ll have to stay here until we investigate this affair.
What s your name?
The child hesitated for a moment.
Will you please call me Cordelia? she said eagerly.
_Call_ you Cordelia? Is that your name?
No-o-o, it s not exactly my name, but I would love to be called
Cordelia. It s such a perfectly elegant name.
I don t know what on earth you mean. If Cordelia isn t your name, what
is?
Anne Shirley, reluctantly faltered forth the owner of that name, but,
oh, please do call me Cordelia. It can t matter much to you what you
call me if I m only going to be here a little while, can it? And Anne is
such an unromantic name.
Unromantic fiddlesticks! said the unsympathetic Marilla. Anne is a
real good plain sensible name. You ve no need to be ashamed of it.
Oh, I m not ashamed of it, explained Anne, only I like Cordelia
better. I ve always imagined that my name was Cordelia--at least, I
always have of late years. When I was young I used to imagine it was
Geraldine, but I like Cordelia better now. But if you call me Anne
please call me Anne spelled with an E.
What difference does it make how it s spelled? asked Marilla with
another rusty smile as she picked up the teapot.
Oh, it makes _such_ a difference. It _looks_ so much nicer. When you hear
a name pronounced can t you always see it in your mind, just as if it
was printed out? I can; and A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks so
much more distinguished. If you ll only call me Anne spelled with an E I
shall try to reconcile myself to not being called Cordelia.
Very well, then, Anne spelled with an E, can you tell us how this
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